


Bull/Cullen(/Dorian) Prompts

by Dragonflies_and_Katydids



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Era, Caretaking, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied dom/sub, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2019-09-19 13:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17002170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonflies_and_Katydids/pseuds/Dragonflies_and_Katydids
Summary: A series of old prompt-fills from Tumblr. My request for prompts didn't specify Bull/Cullen, but somehow that's where they all ended up (except for one, which was Bull/Cullen/Dorian).¯\_(ツ)_/¯I can't say I was upset by this turn of events.They're all established relationship fluff. Other tags will be in the chapter summary.





	1. One falling asleep with their head in the other's lap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things do not go according to plan. It turns out, that's all right.
> 
> Tags: implied dom/sub, canon setting

He’d had plans for tonight. Good plans.  _Very_  good plans, if Bull does say so himself. Plans involving rope, and just the right amount of pain, and the kind of pleasure that forced everything else away for a little while.

Plans that require Cullen to be alert and aware of his surroundings–-at least to start with-–as opposed to curled on his side, half a breath from sleep.

Still, it’s hard not to smile as Cullen shifts, rubbing his cheek idly against Bull’s thigh. One of his hands rests on Bull’s knee, the other palm up on the floor. The fingers of both twitch occasionally as he drifts deeper into sleep, and when Bull strokes his hair, he makes a low noise, almost like a purr, turning into the touch.

Bull sighs, and if there was anyone else around, he would pretend it’s in disappointment. But since it’s just the two of them, and half of those present are lost to the Fade, he doesn’t have to be anything other than content.


	2. Finding the other wearing their clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull gets home from a trip, but Cullen wasn't expecting him until tomorrow.
> 
> Tags: AU - modern

It takes him a second to figure out what Cullen’s wearing. Partly that’s because it’s dark, and three in the morning, and Cullen’s asleep on the couch half wrapped in a blanket that hides most of the shirt. It’s also partly because Bull’s been up for almost forty-eight hours straight at this point, and while his brain never stops noticing details, sooner or later even he starts to lose the ability to process them.

After a couple blinks, though, he finally locates the right mental file and snorts out a soft laugh. Cullen is wearing a football jersey. Bull’s old football jersey from high school, to be exact. The one he would swear he threw away five or six years ago.

Moving quietly, Bull sets his bag down by the door and crosses the room. Cullen stirs, feet drawing up in a sleepy attempt to get them back under the blanket, and his eyes blink open just as Bull sits on the edge of the sofa.

“Home?” Cullen mumbles, then clears his throat and tries again. “You’re home.”

“Yeah,” Bull says, leaning over to kiss him on the temple. “I took standby for an earlier flight, and they got me a seat.”

Cullen shifts around so he can tuck his forehead against the side of Bull’s hip. “S'nice,” he says, clearly already on his way back to sleep.

Then he bolts upright, flinging the blanket back only to then grab it to wrap it completely around his shoulders, hiding the football jersey. “You’re early!” he accuses.

Bull might be offended, if he didn’t know exactly what the problem was. Instead, he’s amused, and it’s a struggle not to show it. “I can go sleep on Krem’s couch tonight,” he offers.

“Don’t be an ass,” Cullen mutters, rubbing the heel of one hand against his eyes. Despite the words, Bull can see his smile.

“But I’m so good at it,” he protests. Before Cullen can answer, Bull reaches one finger into the folds of the blanket to pluck at the jersey’s collar. “I have a pretty clear memory of chucking this when we moved.”

Even in the dark, he can see Cullen flush. “You, uhhhh, did. I…might have rescued it.”

“Might have?” Bull asks, amused and touched at the same time. “Not sure it’s really your color.”

Cullen rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat awkwardly. When it’s obvious he really is at a complete loss for words, Bull takes pity on him and slides his hand around to tangle with Cullen’s at the back of his neck. “I’m home now,” he murmurs, a smile tugging at his mouth. “So why don’t we go to bed, and tomorrow I’ll pretend I don’t remember this, okay?”

“Okay,” Cullen says, his fingers tightening around Bull’s as he closes his eyes. “Okay.”


	3. Reacting to the other one crying about something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: fluff (holy god so fluffy), AU - modern

Cullen isn’t really paying attention to the TV, not with forty papers and an equal number of tests to grade. Most of his brain is occupied by wondering-–not for the first time–-why high school seniors haven’t yet grasped the concept of a topic sentence, and the small fraction of brain power remaining is busy listing out all the other things he has to do tonight.

So whatever’s on TV isn’t exactly at the front of his thoughts, except to note vaguely that Bull and Krem have apparently decided to watch a Disney movie. He could tease them about it, two grown men watching a movie made for kids, but one of the things he appreciates most about Bull is how little he cares what he  _should_  like or do or be, whether that’s taking a job as a nurse or watching animated movies. And Krem has enough people in his life telling him what he should be; Cullen’s not going to add to that by even the tiniest degree. Which means teasing either of them about their choice of movie is right out.

The papers are done, and he’s just starting on the tests when a noise breaks through his concentration. He looks up, trying to figure out what he heard, when it comes again and he recognizes it as sniffling.

His first thought is that Krem or Bull is sick, but logic catches up fast enough and points out that most people don’t go from perfectly healthy to sniffling like that in the space of an hour. Frowning, he straightens in his chair for a better look at the couch’s occupants, and finds Krem hunched down on his end, looking resigned and vaguely embarrassed.

Cullen switches his gaze to Bull, and comes half out of his chair in alarm. “What’s wrong?” he demands.

Krem puts one hand up against the side of his face, pointedly blocking his view of Cullen, and mutters, “He does this.”

“What?” Cullen asks. He’s looking back and forth between Krem’s hand and the back of Bull’s head, neither of which provides him with a lot of information.

Two steps take him around to see the side of Bull’s face, and sure enough, he’s sniffling, eyes wet. “It’s fine,” he tells Cullen thickly, and points the remote at the TV.

Not to stop the movie, Cullen realizes after a second, but to rewind it. Bull hits play again and animated aliens pick up their conversation. When a blue one that looks vaguely like a dog-–if dogs had six legs-–says, “This is my family,” Bull sniffles again.

Cullen blinks once, hard. “You’re crying over a Disney movie?” he asks incredulously.

“He does this,” Krem says again, more emphatically. “And he’ll make us watch the scene at least three times.” He’s definitely embarrassed, but he’s also defensive, his jaw coming out like he’s prepared to fight Cullen over Bull’s right to cry over this.

There are a lot of things Cullen could say to that, but as he watches Bull and the movie, he swallows all of them. After the third time Bull rewinds the scene, Cullen goes into the bathroom to find a box of tissues and bring it out to the living room. Then he kisses the top of Bull’s head and goes back to his papers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I always cry at that scene in _Lilo & Stitch_, okay?


	4. Bull/Cullen/Dorian: One character adjusting the other’s jewelry/neck tie/etc.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: canon setting, care-taking

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Cullen mutters as Bull rolls his shoulder and the end of the strap slips out of his fingers again. He silently begs the Maker for patience and settles the harness again. “Is it too much to ask that you hold still?”

“Yes,” Dorian says emphatically, without looking up from his books. He’s sitting sideways in the padded chair he insisted on dragging up all those stairs to this room above the Herald’s Rest, a book in his lap and another one in his hands.

“I can hold still,” Bull objects, rolling his shoulder again. “I just don’t like all this fussing. I can do it myself.”

Cullen steps back to look him over deliberately, focusing special attention on his arm in its sling. “The surgeon said you weren’t to do anything with it today. Andraste’s ass, let the potions work. It’s only one day.”

“But it’s  _fine_ ,” Bull insists. “Doesn’t even hurt anymore.” He starts to move his arm as a demonstration, then stops when Cullen scowls at him.

“Do you like the taste of healing potions so much that you want to drink more?” Cullen demands. “Or perhaps you find the surgeon attractive and want to see her again?”

Bull grins. “Didn’t think about that, but that’s a good idea.”

Cullen groans and covers his eyes. Behind him, he hears Dorian get up from his chair, his boots thumping dully on the floor as he crosses the room.

“You broke three bones,” Dorian snaps, “in seven places all together. I believe the Inquisitor said you were stepped on by a  _fucking dragon_. Perhaps it’s not too much to ask that you allow  _one day_  for the surgeon’s potions to do their work?”

“It didn’t actually step on me,” Bull says, but when Cullen drops his hand, Bull won’t meet his eyes.

Dorian makes a derisive noise and steps around Cullen to slap his hand down on the shoulder harness, with significantly more force than necessary. “Hold still,” he growls. His eyes flick sideways to meet Cullen’s. “Well?”

This time, Cullen manages to get the strap threaded through the buckle and tightened.

“There,” Dorian mutters. “Kaffas, you’re like an overgrown child.” Despite the words, his fingers drift across the sling before he steps back, and Cullen knows that the concern on Dorian’s face is mirrored on his own. The injury is a too-immediate reminder of what could happen to any of them.

Bull rolls his shoulder one last time, settling the harness, then turns to catch Dorian’s chin between thumb and forefinger, kissing him lightly on the mouth. “I’m fine, kadan,” he murmurs, and Dorian humphs, which only makes Bull grin.

Cullen gets his own quick kiss, and he can feel Bull smiling through it. “Completely fine,” Bull says against his mouth.

“Stay that way,” Cullen says.

“Yes, sir, Commander,” Bull says with another unrepentant grin. Still smiling, he reaches out and brushes the back of a knuckle against Cullen’s cheek. His hand on Cullen’s face, he looks over at Dorian, making it clear the words are for both of them when he says, “You, too.”

Dorian rolls his eyes eloquently, as only he can, and Cullen has to smile.


	5. Taking a bath together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragon-hunting was _not_ on Cullen's bucket list.
> 
> Tags: canon setting, just a bit of angst

“Remind me again why I agreed to this?” Cullen mutters. He’s so tired he can barely get his armor off, his fingers trembling and weak on the buckles, but he grits his teeth and refuses to ask for help. Everyone else is just as tired as he is, after all.

Well, everyone except Bull, who’s beaming like he’s just been given some much-longed-for gift. “Because it’s a  _dragon_ ,” Bull says, the last word almost reverent. “We got to fight a  _dragon_.”

“We certainly did,” Cullen says, shrugging out of his breastplate. “Why we would want to is a question no one is asking, I notice.”

Bull stares at him as if he’s started speaking another language. “Why would we not?”

In response, Cullen looks at his own dented armor, at the bloody wreck of Vivienne’s robes, at the new scar across Bull’s chest. “Because we hold out some lingering hope of living through the next week?”

“But we won!” Bull crows, slapping Cullen on the back. “We were  _victorious_!”

“Is that what we were?” Cullen asks, but it’s hard to be too annoyed when Bull is so happy.

“We’re alive, and it’s not. Sounds like a victory to me!”

“Ah, thank you, darling,” Vivienne says. “That makes it ever so much clearer.”

Cullen bites back a smile as she moves regally past them, looking like a queen even in stained and tattered robes. She’s headed for the shore, and Cullen is suddenly desperate for a bath. That the water will be cold this early in the year and that he may be forced to beg soap from Vivienne are both irrelevant. If he has to spend the rest of the day smelling like some Orlesian dandy, so be it.

Vivienne’s soap is actually not scented with something overly floral; it’s subtle and spicy, and Bull makes a point of sniffing at Cullen’s neck and grinning. “You smell good,” he says.

Up to his waist in cold water, trying to scrub blood out from under his fingernails, Cullen rolls his eyes without quite controlling a smile. “There’s enough for you, too,” he says.

Bull laughs at the unsubtle hint and takes the offered soap. “Want to wash my back for me?” he says, smirking.

Cullen pulls his face into serious lines with a little effort, because while he is amused, he doesn’t want to give the wrong impression. When he gets back to the tent, he has no intention of doing anything other than crashing into his bedroll to sleep until tomorrow. Even if he wasn’t exhausted–-and he is definitely exhausted-–he’s not sure he could make his hand grip anything and he  _knows_  his knees aren’t going to tolerate kneeling for at least the next week. The only thing that will be happening in their tent tonight is sleep.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that Bull reads it all off his face before he even opens his mouth, or that he answers while Cullen is still looking for the right words.

Not that Bull’s answer involves words, either. He just grips Cullen’s chin with the hand not holding the soap and holds him steady for a soft kiss on the forehead. Fortunately for Bull, Cullen’s already washed the dirt and blood off his face.

“Turn around,” Bull says, his smile no longer lecherous. “I’ll get your back.”

His hands are business-like for the most part, but they linger twice: once on the teeth marks across the back of Cullen’s arm, where a dragonling got him, and once on the gash across his hip, gift of his own slow reflexes when the dragon turned unexpectedly and swiped at him. The injuries don’t seem to worry Bull overmuch. He simply inspects them the way he inspects marks he’s made himself, looking to be sure they’re healing cleanly, that Cullen doesn’t need to be bullied into taking another healing potion.

When the inspection is complete, Cullen reverses their positions, scrubbing at the dirt and blood on Bull’s back until all the mess and most of Vivienne’s expensive soap are gone. Cullen makes an embarrassed note to buy her more, and an even more embarrassed note to perhaps buy some for himself. It  _does_  smell good, after all, and he doesn’t reek like some fool from the Orlesian court.

As he scoops up a handful of water to rinse away the last of the soap, the fingers of his other hand trace the three parallel marks that run across Bull’s back from his shoulder to his hip, where the dragon slashed him. Through plate armor, and despite Bull’s reflexes. When Bull stumbled, blood pouring from the gashes, Cullen’s world stopped for a moment.

He can’t match Bull’s casual acceptance of the danger that’s inherent to their lives. “Maraas shokra” isn’t a phrase he will ever understand, and learning Qunlat won’t change that. There is always something to struggle against, and he’s lost so much in his life, sometimes the fear of more loss coils in his chest until he can’t breathe.

“Cullen?” Bull says softly.

That calls him back to the present, to the cold water around his legs and Bull’s cool skin, still slightly soapy, under his hand.

“I’m all right,” he says, because he is. For today, they’re alive.

Maybe, for tonight, there’s nothing to struggle against.


End file.
